


Backseat Blues

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s10e21 Dark Dynasty, Ficlet, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sobs start then, the silent kind that ache in your throat and feel like they’re being ripped from you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backseat Blues

**Author's Note:**

> I was very sad and needed to vent??? mature for the death I guess?

            Charlie weighs next to nothing in his arms when he pulls her from the motel tub.  He’s careful not to let her head hit the edge when he pulls her out. Sam cradles her head in his hand, her cheek against his palm, and gets an arm under her knees. He has to maneuver around Dean, who’s sitting on the closed toilet lid staring at his hands.

            Dean’s knuckles are white around the slick handle of the dagger they’d found on the floor in front of the tub. Sam thinks he might be crying. His hands are red, that dark viscous red of a deep wound and they shake with barely contained rage and grief.

             Sam is so sure that Dean’s going to stab him. He can feel how badly Dean wants to, knows that when he meets his eyes that he’ll confirm every single thing Sam is feeling right now.

            Regret is like a living thing, coiled slimy and horrible in his stomach. It squirms and writhes whenever he looks down, each time his eyes land on the deep gut wound that ended Charlie’s life.

             There’s blood on the wall above her head where they’d found her, trailing down the wall and standing out vividly against porcelain.

            Most of it’s on the edge of the tub, dribbling down to wetly puddle on the grimy floor. She’s so white, blood speckling her skin like macabre freckles. Her shirt sticks to her skin, tacky with fresh blood and Dean looks up from his bloodied hands long enough to stand and button up her over-shirt. 

            She’s still warm in Sam’s arms. Not for the first time in Sam’s life, he wishes he wasn’t the failure that he is. She’s dead because of him. Dead and gone like almost every person he’s ever made the mistake of caring about and now he’s gonna lose Dean too.

            He makes himself sick. Charlie dead in his arms and the only thing he can think about is how he can’t lose Dean. Not again.

            Her head lolls against Sam’s chest, blood dribbling from her slack lips and onto his chest. A sob builds in his throat, tears up from somewhere deep inside of him and tries to wreck his throat on its way out. He doesn’t let it out, chokes it down and shoulders past Dean. Dean’s eyes follow him out the door, accusing, and Sam doesn’t look back as he carries Charlie over the threshold.

            They don’t speak when Sam carries her out, Dean’s eyes following him all the way to the door. He doesn’t have to say anything, because Sam knows.

            He gets the backseat door open with putting Charlie down and crawls in while Dean’s still cleaning up inside.

             He lays her out on the backseat, head in his lap, and strokes her hair with shaking fingers. Sam wipes the blood on her neck clean with the sleeve of his jacket and pushes her hair off her slack face.

            The sobs start then, the silent kind that ache in your throat and feel like they’re being ripped from you. He weeps, face crumpled with pain while he rocks Charlie’s body.

            Her body is already starting to cool, blood congealing on her skin, when Dean climbs into Impala 20 minutes later.

            Dean still has the knife when he climbs into the front seat. His eyes are red rimmed. He tosses it into the passenger seat and starts up the Impala. His eyes are set forward and he doesn’t once look at Sam’s hunched form in the backseat.

            “You don’t deserve to hold her.” Dean’s voice flays him to the bone and they sit in the brutal, accepting silence that follows. Sam doesn’t argue, his shoulders sagging with the crushing weight of those words.


End file.
